


Making Merry

by wingedspirit



Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Comedy, Gen, extraordinary amounts of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedspirit/pseuds/wingedspirit
Summary: Gabriel wants to know the secret to surviving hellfire. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for him, he asks Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560823
Comments: 26
Kudos: 296





	Making Merry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [drawlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawlight)’s [advent calendar prompt list](https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been) (day 14, eggnog).

Crowley is late.

They’d agreed to meet at half past five at the bookshop, spend some time having a nice wander through a park, maybe feed some ducks, and then go for dinner; and so Aziraphale had closed the bookshop at four, expecting Crowley to show up half an hour after that, as usual.

He hadn’t worried when that hadn’t happened, of course. Sometimes, though very rarely, Crowley shows up at precisely the appointed time.

But it is now six, and Crowley is late.

The only reason Aziraphale isn’t panicking is he can feel Crowley’s presence, at the edge of his consciousness. It’s burning bright, shimmering like it usually does when the demon is enjoying himself.

And that — honestly, that _hurts_. He’s trying not to let it, but it’s only been a few months, and — _our side_ , Crowley had said, but there he is, already having so much fun with — with _humans_ , probably, that he forgets they had a date, and —

Before he can talk himself out of it, Aziraphale miracles himself to Crowley’s location.

It’s a Christmas party, the raucous, half-wild kind. There are decorations everywhere, there are long tables with snacks and drinks, someone is singing karaoke really, really badly, and —

He would’ve expected to find Crowley in the thick of it; but he isn’t. He’s tucked away in a corner, almost hidden, leaning back against the wall and recording the proceedings with his phone.

No, this is not at all what Aziraphale was expecting; and so he stands there and just watches for a bit, trying to work out what possible reason Crowley could have to be here.

Of course, Crowley eventually looks away from the festivities, and realises he’s there, and startles — and immediately hurries over, although, Aziraphale notices, he is careful to angle his phone as he moves so he can keep filming.

“I’m so sorry, angel. I lost track of time. I didn’t mean to miss our date.”

He sounds genuinely regretful, and Aziraphale softens. “What are you even doing here? I didn’t think this was your kind of party.”

Crowley smiles. “It’s not. Well, not anymore. But —” He gestures towards the other side of the room with the hand that isn’t holding the phone.

Aziraphale follows the gesture, looking at the small stage where whoever is currently trying their hand at karaoke is continuing to butcher the song, and — “Is that _Gabriel?”_

Crowley’s smile broadens into a grin. “Yup.”

“Explain.”

“Well…”

⁂

Crowley is rushing down the street, trying to make it to the nearby bakery before it inevitably sells out of the little apricot pastries Aziraphale loves, when it happens. He rounds a corner, and runs straight into someone.

“Watch where you’re walking,” he snarls; and then notices exactly who it is that he’s run into. “Oh, shit.”

“Ah, demon! Just the person I wanted,” Gabriel exclaims, loudly, drawing a few stares.

Crowley winces, both at Gabriel’s volume and at his enthusiasm. At least he doesn’t seem to be hostile. “Could you possibly be any louder?”

“AH, DEMON!” Gabriel outright bellows, drawing the attention of every single human in the general vicinity before a hasty demonic miracle reminds them that they should mind their own business. “JUST THE PERSON I WANTED.”

“Oh, for — I did _not_ mean that literally, and _what the fuck are you doing here?”_

“I require your help,” Gabriel says, earnestly, returning to a more normal tone of voice.

There is a pause.

 _No_ , Crowley wants to say. “With what?” Crowley asks, instead, through gritted teeth, hating like never before the fact that curiosity has always been one of his defining character traits.

“I must know the secret to making an angel immune to hellfire.”

 _Absolutely not_ , Crowley wants to say. “Why?”

“I wish to court my demonic counterpart.”

⁂

“He _what?”_

“Yeah, that’s what I said, too. Then he repeated himself.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Tell me you told him no.”

“Would we be here if I’d told him no? Of course I decided to help him, out of the goodness of my heart.”

Aziraphale snorts.

Crowley smirks. “Aw, angel, I thought you believed in my goodness.”

“Eh.” Aziraphale returns the smirk with one of his own. “I find it depends on the situation.”

“Smart. So anyway…”

⁂

“Oh, God, no, stop that — that is _incredibly disturbing_ , that is, someone needs to have a talk with you about metaphors — humans do _not_ mean it literally when they talk about ‘pleading puppy eyes’ — alright, alright, I’ll help, just stop it!”

Gabriel blinks, his eyes returning to normal. “Great! So how do we do this?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Crowley says, thinking quickly; and then he remembers the loud Christmas party he’d passed a short while back. “Ah. Yes. Follow me.”

Crowley leading, Gabriel following, they walk the two blocks to the party. It’s one of those large company parties that always end up with random people joining in, because there are so many invitees that absolutely nobody knows everybody.

Crowley makes a beeline for the refreshments and gives the drinks a cursory glance. The eggnog appears to be the least popular, more of it left than of any other drink. With Gabriel watching, he runs a hand over it, making it really, blindingly obvious that he’s doing something to it.

The eggnog, to its extreme surprise, finds itself infinitely more alcoholic than a moment ago.

“There you go,” Crowley says. “What you need to do is drink —” he does some quick mental math, adjusts the results upwards, and then figures he may as well err on the side of caution “— all of this. It’ll burn a bit going down — that’s how you know it’s working.”

Gabriel’s eyes go wide. “All of it? I don’t usually… consume… gross matter.”

“All of it,” Crowley says, firmly. “Do you want your immunity to hellfire or not?”

Gabriel winces, then sets his mouth in a flat, determined line. He grabs an empty glass from the stack of them set in a corner of the table, miracles it to be larger, and dips it into the bowl of eggnog, filling it.

Then he knocks it back all in one go, as if it was a shot.

“Atta boy,” Crowley says, impressed in spite of himself, backing slowly away.

Gabriel pays him no attention, and refills his glass.

⁂

“So you can see,” Crowley says, cheerfully, “how Gabriel might be a little drunk, by now.”

“A little drunk,” Aziraphale says, faintly, looking at the very large, very empty punch bowl that used to contain eggnog. It looks like it’s been licked clean.

“Just a little.” Crowley smiles, all teeth. “About thirty seconds after he was done with the eggnog, he noticed two of the humans snogging in a corner and started sobbing. A guy asked him what was wrong, and he blurted out the whole ‘I love my sworn enemy but they are my sworn enemy, they have never said anything, they must hate me, o, woe is me’ sob story. And the guy said, and I quote —”

⁂

“Nah, mate, trust me, whoever it is, I’m sure they love you. You just gotta tell them. Come on, come have a drink with me, it’ll cheer you up.”

“Really?” Gabriel asks, tearfully, blowing his nose noisily and messily on a miracled-up handkerchief. “You really think I have a chance?”

“Absolutely, mate. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You’re a catch.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel says, wetly, as the guy presses a cocktail into his hand. “Oh, thank you.”

⁂

“And then, fifteen cocktails and twelve shots later — and let me tell you, it was a _trial_ to keep all the humans from noticing the sheer quantity of alcohol your ex-boss imbibed — someone talked him into letting his feelings out through the time-honored medium of terrible karaoke, and here we are.”

“And of course you’ve been filming the whole thing,” Aziraphale says, amused despite himself.

“Of course. Excellent blackmail material, this, if nothing else.”

“Right. But darling —” Aziraphale hates pointing it out, hates being the voice of reason when Crowley’s having such fun, but he must. “Have you thought about what will happen when he tries going down to Hell to see Beelzebub? He’s not going to be actually immune to hellfire. He could be killed.”

“Ah, nah. He’ll be fine. Nobody’ll touch him. They all know he’s off-limits.”

“Off-limits?”

Crowley grins. “Beelzebub is absolutely gone on him. Head over heels.”

Aziraphale stares. “You’re kidding.”

“Nah. Has been since Before. But, you know, they were merely a Cherub, and Gabriel’s an Archangel, and he never even glanced at them, and so they longed for him from afar, and now they’re sworn enemies, this can never be, o, woe is them. Hell’s worst-kept secret, that. Everyone knows. Absolutely everyone.”

Aziraphale looks thoughtfully back at Gabriel, who is drunkenly sobbing his way through “My Heart Will Go On” as the humans cheer him on. “In that case, I might have an idea.”

⁂

The foreign object on Beelzebub’s desk is flat and rectangular, wrapped in bright, cheerful paper decorated with little drawings of a snake wrapped around a flaming sword, and topped with a golden bow. It stands out starkly against the dimness of Hell, and they’d almost incinerated it on sight, just for that. It is very obvious who it is from, though; and Crowley may be a traitor, but he’s not stupid, so if he’s sending something their way, he must have a very, very good reason.

And so, instead, they unwrap it. It’s a fancy tablet computer, a human one. As soon as they touch it, it starts playing a video. A very interesting video, followed by a very interesting message.

Beelzebub buzzes thoughtfully, sets the tablet down, and picks up the phone.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://wingedspirit.tumblr.com/).


End file.
